


What More Could You Want?

by Ahaviel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x12, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Compliant, Castiel has a sense of humor, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean comes out of denial, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Episode: s12e12 Coda, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Honesty, M/M, POV Dean, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Season/Series 12 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahaviel/pseuds/Ahaviel
Summary: The ride back home after the events in the barn (s12e12), and a conversation long overdue.





	

It was late and Dean was exhausted but he was far too keyed up to think about sleep. Usually this is where a good drink or ten would come in, dull the less fun parts, get him close enough to something resembling sleep that his body would be ready for more of the same tomorrow. But tonight…tonight was different.

He’d convinced Cas to hand over the truck keys to Mary, giving her an excuse about Cas still recovering, and not caring if she believed him or not. Her look was more _Oh really?_ and less _Let me fix him_ but she took the keys and didn’t question him. Sam went with her, muttering something about not wanting her to be alone, but casting a glance his way that suggested he knew Dean wanted some privacy. And that was okay, because it was mostly true. Hell, he wanted reassurance and tonight he didn’t care who knew it.

Cas settled in the passenger seat looking tired, and far too bloody, but peaceful somehow. After digging around in the tape box, Dean slid a tape in the player and turned the volume down a bit as the keyboard twangs of Stealers Wheel’s “What More Could You Want” filled the interior. They drove, the upbeat melody somehow helping Dean to relax a bit, while he thought about what had happened. What had _almost_ happened. And what it all meant.

And as usual, he had no words. He could feel it in his body: a tightness across the front of his shoulders, an ache in his chest, something knotting in his abdomen that didn’t feel like a meal. But he never was any good at putting names to feelings. Feelings were liabilities and best avoided, not named and categorized and hung up on the fridge for everyone to look at. So he allowed the music to wash through him, taking some of the agitation with it.

At one point, on a long stretch of highway through farmland, he drove left-handed, his right hand resting on the middle of the seat bench. He left it there, an invitation maybe, or maybe just taking a break. In his peripheral vision, Cas didn’t seem to move, staring as he was out the passenger window without a word. But a few minutes later, Dean was certain he felt warmth near his little finger, and something akin to static electricity tickled the side of his hand. He glanced down as if eyeing the tape player and verified one angelic hand, covered in dried blood, less than an inch from his.

They were nearly home when fatigue finally started to set in, and with it, the events of the day seemed almost surreal. He didn’t want to dwell on them, relive watching Cas rot away while he stood there feeling utterly helpless, relive Cas so close to tears, relive those words. Because the more he thought about it, the more he was certain it wasn’t a dying declaration. Not really. Cas had pinned him with those blue eyes, stared right into him, then _lowered his gaze_ before uttering the words that took Dean’s breath away and left him speechless. It was a fucking _admission_.

His own pain and blood had come back to him in that moment, a night long ago in the crypt, and the words he’d been thinking but too chicken to say. “I need you,” was all he’d managed, and it had been enough at the time, but damnit, Cas had just proven that he had more courage in his little finger—that same finger sharing its warmth with Dean’s—than Dean probably had in his whole body.

And that was part of the problem. Cas had said it, but Dean hadn’t yet proven himself worthy. And he had no idea what to do with that.

He parked the Impala and sat for a moment in the silence, thinking for a half-second about tapping Cas’ finger with his own, then looked over and raised his eyebrows. “You want to shower? Or…?”

“I should, yes,” Cas said thoughtfully. “I am still somewhat weakened.”

“Whoa, what? I thought you said you were good.”

“No, not from tonight. I am…healed from that. But my grace is still in a weakened state. Cleaning my vessel—my body—will, I think, require the manual method.”

“Right. Gotcha. Well…I’m beat.” He got out of the car, stretching his legs as he did, aware that Cas followed suit and caught up to him before he could reach the door.

“Dean.” Cas stopped him with a hand to his upper arm. “I meant what I said back there.”

Blinking his confusion, Dean ran his free hand over his face. “What? Cas, you said a lot back there.”

“I didn’t want to die without letting you know. And I realize now that it was cowardice on my part. I should have told you a long time ago.” He sighed. “But I didn’t know how you’d take it. This was…still the coward’s way out. I could tell you I love you, die, and not have to face the consequences. So I understand if you are upset. But I need you to know that I meant it.”

“Cas, do we really have to have this conversation tonight?” Dean _was_ tired, true, but an admission like this— _twice_ in one night—called for something more: a reaction, a response, a reciprocation. Something. And Dean wasn’t sure what he had to offer.

“No. Of course not. You require rest.” The disappointment in Cas’ tone was deafening.

“Look, Cas…I’m not upset. Okay? And I meant what I said too. You’re family.” He looked around for any other signs of life, wondering if Sam and their mom were already asleep. “Jesus, Cas…”

“No, I am just Cas,” Cas corrected.

Dean huffed out a tired laugh. “Right. Man, on a good day, with plenty of sleep and nothing breathing down our necks, I’d have a hard time talking about how I feel and…and what you mean to me. You’re asking me for something I’m not sure I can give.”

Cas stepped even closer, Dean’s arm now sandwiched between their bodies. Dean tried not to think about where his hand hung, tried not to think about what his fingers might brush if he moved them.

“I don’t need your words, Dean. We’ve established a familial basis. All I want to know is, could you ever think of me as something…more?”

Dean stared at the ground, not finding the words he wanted.

“Or,” Cas continued softly, his face inches from Dean’s ear, “perhaps you would prefer I find someone else. Someone who smells like food?”

“No,” Dean said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, felt his heart pounding. “No. I wouldn’t. Cas, I almost…” He felt that tightness increasing across his chest, a pressure around his jaw. “I almost lost you for good tonight. And all I can think about is how I had to act like a fucking idiot at breakfast, giving you _dating advice_ so…so Wally wouldn’t suspect anything. I stood there like a helpless statue when you were dying, and _Crowley_ is the one who figures out how to save you? You’re not the coward, Cas. I am. I don’t…I don’t deserve your love.”

“I think I should be the one who decides whom I love,” Cas said, his voice even lower than normal, causing chills to run down Dean’s spine. “I don’t see cowardice, Dean. I see your courage and your selflessness. I see someone worthy of my love, someone worthy of my life.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”

“I know it’s hard for you to see the good in yourself, Dean. So let me see it for you. For now.”

Turning his face slightly toward Cas, Dean said, “You realize I could say the exact same thing to you.”

“Then we make quite the pair.”

Dean sighed, eyeing the ground again. “I’m really glad you didn’t die tonight, Cas.”

“Me too.”

“And…uh…I do. For the record. Think of you…you know…as more.”

Cas rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” They stood that way for a minute until Dean allowed his head to tilt slightly, resting the side of his head against Cas’. “I don’t know what we do now.”

Dean felt a tug on his upper arm as Cas maneuvered him so they were facing each other. Eyes that were full of so much—sadness, hope, love—raised to meet his, and before he could react, soft lips pressed themselves against his. It was dry and chaste, a tentative kiss. Cas drew back slightly and licked his lips, something Dean couldn’t help but watch with fascination. He nudged closer to Cas, feeling that static electricity between them again, and found Cas’ lips with his own, bringing his free hand up, first to Cas’ waist, then slowly up to the back of his neck, feeling Cas’ soft, thick hair in his fingers.

He kept the kisses cautious at first, but when he felt Cas’ hand cup the side of his head, he tried an experimental lick. Almost immediately, Cas opened and pulled him even closer, crushing their mouths together and teasing Dean’s tongue with his own. Dean felt the tension in his shoulders give way completely as he held Cas close, the knots in his abdomen spark into something exciting and light, and the ache in his chest swell until reality slipped away and all of his senses were filled with Cas.

Eventually breathing made a pitch for top priority in Dean’s mind, and he withdrew regretfully, his lips feeling both tingly and numb. Sucking in deep breaths through his mouth, he pulled back enough to see all of Cas’ face, enough to catch an authentic smile. For a moment he was overcome with the thoughts _Cas is happy_ and _I made him happy_. He smiled in return. “Dude, we should do that again.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “But I am still in need of cleaning, and you…”

“Probably pretty rank, huh?”

“I would have used a less judgmental description.”

“So we should shower.”

“I believe that would solve the problem.”

Sighing, Dean nodded. “Okay.”

Cas bit his lower lip and looked at Dean under raised eyebrows. “I have always used my grace to clean my vessel. I’m not entirely certain I can operate the shower mechanism with maximum efficiency.” He paused, a corner of his mouth quirking slightly. “We might run out of hot water before I finish.”

“What are you saying, Cas? You’re however millennia old and you need help operating a shower?”

“And properly cleansing my vessel, yes. I may require additional instruction,” Cas added with an earnest nod.

“You’re an ass.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “So that’s a yes?”

“Fine. Yes. And for the love of all that’s good in the world, don’t let Sam see us.”

Cas stepped back and guided them toward the door. “I will find a way to thank you appropriately.”

“Uh…yeah. Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Go easy on me, okay? This is a lot to take in. I mean, it’s been there for a long time, but being out in the open…even just between us. It’s a lot.”

“Dean.” Cas stopped them, looking more solemn than usual. “I would never ask for more than you’re willing to give. I’m willing to be as patient as you need. I’m an angel; I’m very practiced at patience. And you’re worth it.”

“Thanks. I mean it.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“You’re still an ass.” Dean caught a flash of Cas’ teeth and a chuckle before they went inside.


End file.
